


Silence.

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Afghanistan, Aftermath of Torture, Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Angst, Arc Reactor Issues, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safehouses, Steve and Tony have to share a room, War, they aren't happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: While in wait, staying at Clint's safehouse, Steve has to bunk with Tony and a broken arc reactor.OrSteve has a lot of questions and Tony isn't sure he wants to answer them.





	Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeyyyy,
> 
> so I wrote this on pen and paper (the horror- I have the handwriting of a six year old) and had to transfer it onto here, but I think it was worth it kinda. This is literally just a whole shit ton of angst and tension and awkwardness between Tony and Steve upon having to share a room at Clint's safehouse. Steve has a lot of questions and Tony's not so sure that he wants to answer them.
> 
> Trigger Warning:
> 
> Mentions Tony having PTSD from his time in Afghanistan and references the torture experienced there. A lot of talk about Tony's physical scars. Sexual tension and uncomfortable conversations, if that triggers you or whatever. Might as well cover all my ground.

The room was no bunker- at least Steve could be grateful for that. When Clint had mentioned a safehouse, Steve had expected to be sleeping on a cold cement floor, rain residue dripping sluggishly from the ceiling. But no, his shoulders remained cradled by a soft mattress, sounds of water instead replaced with old wood creaking occasionally. Soft breathing. A gentle whirr.

He was certainly unhappy with the sleeping situation, but not to the extent that Tony was. The other had been clearly displeased, silent unless prompted which did nothing to stifle Steve’s strange attraction to his oddities. There was a stubborn tension in the space between their bodies, the inches apart between their spines. Silence- besides the _whirr._

“Can you make that thing, uh… stop or something?” Steve finally mumbled frustratedly.

“Wow, Cap, years in the war and you can’t sleep because of a little hum?” Tony shot back, a heavy sigh escaping from him. What followed was more uncomfortable silence. _Whirr._

“That’s coming from that thing in your chest?”

“No, it’s just flatulence,” Tony snapped sarcastically. “Of course it’s the reactor.”

More silence. _Whirr._

“Didn’t do that before,” Steve commented.

“Astute observation; you’re a clever one.”

“Why?”

“If you must know, my health is in a relative decline due to the injuries we suffered today at the hands of our friendly neighbourhood sentient toaster.” Silence. “I’ll be fine enough to fight tomorrow so don’t worry your pretty blonde head.”

“You know, I don’t just care because I have to.” Steve’s tone was firm, though Tony could sense a hesitant resistance in his words. “Does it… does it hurt?”

Silence. _Whirr._

“Yes.”

“Just today or…?”

“All the time.” There was a quiet, mournful rest for a moment. “Don’t go pitying me. I don’t need your sympathy.” His words were suddenly pulled taut, a defensive barrier. It was so easily erected that Steve didn’t have to ask to know that Tony was used to this.

“I’m not pitying you,” Steve insisted gently. He shifted so that he lay on his side, facing the smaller man’s still form. “Tony.” He attempted to coax the man to turn over to meet his gaze- to see nothing but understanding in Steve’s eyes.

“That sounds a lot like pity.”

“It’s not.” 

Tony released a stubborn puff of breath and rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the old farmhouse ceiling. Steve somewhat expected Tony to shove off the covers and stalk angrily from the room, but instead he lay still; unmoving, unspeaking. _Whirr._

“What… what does it do, Tony?” 

“The reactor?” Tony released a strangled chuckle, thought the grin didn’t reach his eyes. One of his hands came to rest over his shirt, just where the blue light filtered through. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s seen war first-hand.”

Steve’s mouth ran dry for a moment. It was as if shock had frozen the words he struggled for. War. Silence. _Whirr._

Sensing Steve’s loss for words, Tony released another sigh. With a strangled, somewhat painful grunt, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and reached one hand down to the hem of his shirt. The scarred skin was overcast by the dark cover of the room, but the pale, risen marks were certainly visible. In the centre of the small scars lay that pale blue light. _Whirr._

“Y’see, doubting Thomas? Have you had enough now?” The words were enough to make Steve visibly flinch. They were hurt. They were pained.

“Hey,” Steve coaxed, the memory of the scarred chest still visible clearly in his mind’s eye, even after Tony had covered it up again and collapsed onto his back again, staring at the ceiling in resignation. “I understand.”

“You don’t,” Tony countered bitterly. “So far as I know, our beloved patriot was never a tortured POW.”

“No,” Steve allowed, still facing Tony’s form. “But Bucky, my best friend, was. The fight was over for a while, sure, but not for him.” Silence. _Whirr_. “It’s not over for you either, is it?” No response, just laboured breaths.

“Shrapnel,” Tony finally said simply. “Shrapnel in my chest. Another prisoner, uh… Yinsen-“ Tony cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He put a batter in my chest to- to keep the shrapnel from my heart. Hooked to a car battery.” Tony forced a laugh. Steve didn’t join him. “I deserved it. You know what I was, right? They wanted me to make my weapons for them. They, um…”

“… tortured you until you did?” Steve supplied, his tone tense and filled with a masked emotion.

“Not badly,” Tony denied. “Just simple waterboarding. Some electrocution, but that was because of the battery and not them. It wasn’t serious enough… should have stuck it out. Some hero.” 

Steve propped himself up on one elbow, tracing Tony’s unmoving expression. The reactor cast a feeble light onto the dips and contours of his face and he stared down at it, listening to it hum. Hesitant fingers trailed down to the hem of his shirt and, shockingly, Tony allowed for him to lift the material though his muscles remained taut and pulled tight defensively, ready to slap Steve away.

“No more playboy,” Tony offered, feigned amusement a sorry attempt to pass the situation off, “no more suntanning.” A crack. A break in his voice. _Whirr._

“Tony,” Steve began, though he could find no words to suffice for his feelings. Instead, he allowed his large hand to ghost over the scars, thus tracing the ridges and valleys. A deep endearment welled in his ribcage, pulling tightly at his already-present feelings of affection.

“It’s, uh, weird. Gross.” Tony offered, his own fingers curling around Steve’s wrist and tugging to urge it away. Steve didn’t budge.

“No,” Steve breathed, gaze never leaving the scarred skin. “It’s human. It’s beautiful.”

Silence. _Whirr._

At first, Tony was at an obvious loss for words. His steady gaze which had been trained on the ceiling had drifted to Steve’s expression, reading a helpless confusion. Then, anger. Tony sat up and shoved away from the other warm body so near to his own, erecting that steel wall once more. His torso was covered again and he faced himself painstakingly to a seated position, allowing his legs to hang over the side of the bed.

“Goddamnit, Rogers,” he cursed, an almost seethingly hateful tone. “You can’t just say stuff like that to a lady.” Even in his hatred, his defensive humour and sarcasm remained.

“But I… Tony, I mean it.” Steve insisted, his tone cracking on the last syllables. He followed Tony’s movements, sitting up and pushing closer. Tony flinched under the touch of his hand. “I… I’m smitten, Tony- and that’s not pity.”

Silence. _Whirr._ A chuckle. A small, pitiful sniff. Tony dragged an arm over his face, hunched over and faced away still from Steve. 

“That’s stupid of you,” he said weakly, simply. Steve smiled gently and reached out again. Silence.

“It’s not.” Steve murmured. This time, it sounded more like a promise.

 

From then on, Steve wasn’t bothered by the hum.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry


End file.
